TWENTY-NINE

For the wake, Corinne had employed a firm of caterers, who provided a cold buffet. A whole poached salmon, cold chicken in Little Gem lettuce leaves, melon and Parma ham on toothpicks, and a feta salad. Jane had no appetite.

Gus had not come to the crematorium but he was there at the wake, presumably for the free drinks. He was talking to Dave, and Jane was curious to know what they were discussing. The fire and how it had started? Had Simmy had anything to do with it? If she had, it was Dave’s fault for not answering her perfectly reasonable questions.

Strange how, at funerals, you heard people talking about their work, or football, or the state of the world, even making jokes. Still, it was no good repeating what a sad loss it was and how wonderful the dead person had been. How many people really cared? For Corinne, it was a life-changing tragedy, but for most it was simply the disappearance of a familiar character who had brightened up Faraday Road, or caused friction with his loft conversions, depending on your point of view. With a twinge, Jane thought again how much she would miss their brief encounters. Don’t tell me I’d be better off moving to a smaller place, Noel. Downsizing, isn’t that what they call it? And Noel’s mock terrified responses. I wouldn’t dare, Jane!

Once, she had attempted to “bleed” a radiator, with disastrous results. The washer had come off the valve – something like that – and Noel had come to her rescue and saved her from a flood. But that was not the reason she was going to miss him. For all his jokes and bonhomie, there had been an underlying sadness that had created a bond between them. He had talked about his childhood and she had told him a little about hers. All childhoods have their good and bad aspects. Noel had adored his mother but had no memory of his father. Jane’s had been a workaholic, who understood nothing about small children. Perhaps that was why she objected to women clergy. As a child, God and his deputies had provided the father-figure she lacked.

Mrs Garcia had not attended the funeral, but then she and Noel had had a business arrangement, they were not friends. All the same, one would have thought the woman might have come, out of respect for Corinne. Not that any of it was Jane’s responsibility. She must stop feeling responsible for other people’s woes.

Gus was scoffing a plateful of vol-au-vents and appeared to be getting on well with the woman called Harriet. He liked younger women. The woman who had bought number twenty-two was probably in her late-forties, getting on in years by Arthur and Simmy’s standards, but in the prime of life by Jane’s. Who was she, and why had she moved to Faraday Road? Above all, why was Gus so unwilling to talk about her. There was only one answer to that.

Over by the door, Willa was inspecting a pot plant. Jane had a feeling she was avoiding her. Before she found the fluffy handcuffs, Jane had wondered if Willa and Brian had discussed the afternoon Noel fell and decided on watertight alibis? Not that she had ever thought Brian capable of killing anyone, although, in crime fiction, it normally turned out to be the least likely suspect. Did he suspect Willa? If he did, Jane would have been able to put his mind at rest.

Willa caught Jane’s eye and she felt obliged to join her. ‘Hello, Willa, did you enjoy your stay in Cornwall?’

‘Cornwall?’

‘Brian said you were spending a few days with your sister.’

Willa looked away, pretending to be brushing something off the shoulder of her jacket. ‘I needed space, Jane, time to grieve. Noel was my soulmate.’

Jane suppressed a sigh. The silly woman sounded like a character in a play. Time to grieve. My soulmate. Time to escape awkward questions more like.

‘Oh, Jane, I did something so stupid.’

Jane waited while Willa took several deep breaths. Was she going to tell her about the sex outfit?

‘I booked into a hotel, Jane, a cheap one, horrible, not even very clean. Have you seen a film called The Deep Blue Sea?’

‘It was a play originally. Terrence Rattigan.’

‘Oh, you know it. She gassed herself. I mean she would have done if that doctor hadn’t saved her.’

‘Yes, I remember.’ Poor Hester Collyer, who gave up everything for love, a woman after Jane’s heart.

‘Because her boyfriend kept going to the pub with his friends.’

‘I think there was a little more to it than that.’ So Willa saw herself as a tragic figure, on a par with Hester Collyer, quite apart from the fact that she had missed the point of one of Jane’s favourite plays.

‘Are you feeling any better, Jane?’ Willa’s lips kept twitching, like Rousseau when Jane was opening one of his super de luxe cat dinners.

‘Arthur’s making progress with his English grammar.’

‘Is he?’ Her lack of interest was irritating, although her next words provided an explanation. She had been planning to say something Jane was not going to like. ‘I didn’t say anything before, Jane, but the day it happened, when I was on my way to the shops I saw Gus. I don’t know where he was going – he had a zip-up bag – but all of a sudden, he turned back the way he’d come, back towards his house.’

‘When was this? He was on his way to take photographs – for a competition. Pictures of insects and birds, I think.’

Willa frowned. Not surprising, since Jane’s remark had not been relevant.

‘When you saw him —’

‘I forget the exact time. Only I thought ...’

What did you think? There are things I could tell you that would give you something to talk about. Holla your name to the reverberate hills, and make the babbling gossip of the air cry out ...

‘Will you excuse me a moment, Willa, I need to speak to Simmy.’

Simmy was on her own, inspecting the vol-au-vent she was holding, and looking thoroughly fed up. Had she asked Arthur to accompany her and he had refused? There was no need for her to be there but she was a child who liked to do the right thing. Her insistence on telling Tricia Tidewell not to put a dummy in Ada’s mouth had been embarrassing, although Tricia had thanked her for being so helpful.

Jane touched her arm. ‘It was good of you to come to the service, dear.’

‘Dad was late.’ Simmy replaced the vol-au-vent on a plate. ‘He doesn’t like Corinne.’

‘Why not?’ She should have said “Oh, I’m sure that’s not right”.

‘He thinks she’ll tell me about the man my mother ran off with.’

‘How would she know something like that?’

‘Mr McNeil might have told her.’

Jane could see Gus picking up a new glass of wine. Now was not the time to tell him, but she had to, she couldn’t wait. ‘Have you had something to eat, Simmy?’

‘I don’t like the food.’

‘A soft drink then. Come round to my house later and we can have a chat.’

‘About my mother? Yes, all right.’

‘Good.’ The child might or might not come, and if she did, what could she suggest, but just now Jane had more important things on her mind. ‘Gus?’ She caught up with him as he drifted away in the direction of a bowl of strawberries.

‘Jane.’

‘Can we have a word in private?’

‘What now? Where? Can’t it wait?’

‘Not really.’ But Corinne was approaching.

‘Barnaby’s just sent me a text. He’s coming the day after tomorrow. Isn’t that lovely?’

So the wretched boy had chosen to text her during the wake. ‘Yes, lovely.’

Gus had jumped at the chance and was escaping to another part of the room.

‘You look worn out, Corinne,’ Jane said. And a little the worse for wear from several glasses of white wine. ‘I should put your feet up for the rest of the day.’ She reached out to steady her, afraid she was going to fall. ‘You know you’re welcome to come to my house whenever you like. Tomorrow perhaps if Barnaby’s coming the day after.’

‘Have you seen the loft? The balcony where he fell? I was the person who decided how the bathroom should be. There’s a sloping ceiling but you could still make use of the cupboard if you knelt down. Noel took me up there soon after the conversion began. He said he valued my opinion. Oh, what am I going to do?’ She clutched at Jane, bumping into her spectacles as she planted an awkward kiss on her cheek. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re wonderful, such a comfort. Is it because you used to be a teacher? Is it pastoral care?’

Unlike poor Eddie, Jane’s memory was clear as ... as a bell, as daylight. And she distinctly remembered Corinne saying she had never been in one of Noel’s loft conversions. A lie, or was it just that she had a tendency to gabble on without thinking about what she was saying? The woman called Harriet was waiting to say goodbye.

‘So nice to meet you. I have to catch my train.’

‘Do you need a lift to the station?’ It would give her an excuse to leave.

‘How kind, but a taxi is on its way.’

‘Well I hope you have an uneventful journey. There’ve been hold-ups on the line but I think the worst of it’s over. Goodbye then.’ And she returned to the plates of half-eaten food and Gus refilling his glass.

‘I need to talk to you, Gus. No, not here, can you come round later? And don’t say there’s a match on television. It’s important.’

‘Going to see a friend. Might stay the night if we’re out late. I’ll see you tomorrow. Or the next day. Remind me if I forget.’

Jane turned away, to hide her stupid tears. ‘Actually, it’s not that important. Just something I need to discuss – when you can spare the time.’